𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑. ❨ DIVERGENT ❩

01 - SKIN ON FIRE

IT WAS DARK. AND SILENT.

A welcomed pair during this time of night.

The land of Abnegation was soundless as the midnight fauna thrived, the moon at its fullest as the faint rays spilled through the expanse of Chicago. I was fortunate enough to have a small window in my already-cramped room, granting me at least a little bit of light borrowed from outside.

I suppose I should be used to the cramped space already, seeing as I've been living in this room since I was eight years old. The bed was old, worn down by the amount of times I've laid on it, often in tears, blood and bruises.

Downstairs was noisy. I hated it.

The tranquility that my own personal nook in the house offered was far more appealing than the chaos which was below, the sounds of my father's drinking was getting louder. It wouldn't be long now till his favorite companion, his anger, made its appearance.

"Elle!" His gruff voice reverberated through my closed door, a sourness in his voice that I was practically immune of seeing as I hadn't reacted to anything he's done to me in years.

I was numb to everything now.

All I could do was remain silent.

"Get the fuck down here!"

I pushed the covers over me to the foot of the bed, the furniture creaking under me as my weight disappeared while I head over to the door, tightly grasping the doorknob. If I didn't get down fast enough, he was gonna go ballistic.

But I didn't want to go down there.

I didn't want to see his face.

His eyes.

Eyes so full of anger for me.

So full of unspoken loathing, that he just resorted to using his fists instead.

I pulled down the sleeves of my dress down my arms more, making sure that not an inch of skin was visible. Who knows what he would add to them tonight?

"Elle!"

I resolutely opened the door, holding my breath as I took the steps downstairs. I was determined to go down silently, thanking whoever as my shoe-clad feet went down the cement stairs.

Funny to think that it wasn't that long ago I had fallen down them.

Of course, the faction didn't know that. They simply think I tripped and brutally sprained by ankle, leaving me unable to walk properly for six months.

He'd covered it up, pretending to be the doting father.

He's always been good at that.

Putting on a show.

By the time I arrived at the living room, it reeked the smell of cheap liquor, bottles strewn across the carpet under the couch. The alcohol no doubt spilling over, if it hadn't already. I had more to clean again tomorrow.

"Elle!"

His eyes were on me now, voice rough as when he first called me downstairs. Sat on the couch with legs over the table, he looked like a mess. He looked manic, almost.

I remained still by the doorway, hands clutching the seams of my sleeves. My nerves were alight, eyes wide to predict just what he wanted me down her for. After three years of being left alone with this man, after he left, I didn't dare stay in one room with him for more than what was necessary.

Because whenever I did, new bruises and wounds were almost always guaranteed.

He simply sat there, eyes on me while mine were glued to the ground, face devoid of emotion as to not stir him up more.